Friday, January 13, 2012

06 January 2012

My mother lives on the edge of darkness. She converses more with the dead people she sees around her than she does with anyone else. She does have a few lucid moments, but they are fleeting, and often there's a look of panic in her eyes when she drifts back into the darkness. It's little wonder she expresses such anger with the dead people around her.

My step-dad provides her care, and he does so with little or no break aside from the time he takes her to the beautician. I do not know how he does it, and I don't know what we would do without him, though I'm pretty sure we would not do as well. He's getting a card.

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